


Februwhump Prompt: Where are you?

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Februwhump Prompts 2019 [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Child Soldiers, Episode: c02e049 A Game of Names, Gen, Injury, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Spoilers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Training, Trent Ikithon is his own warning, hunger/starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:24:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: Trent’s voice in his mind is as cool and clear as ever, the distance doing nothing to interfere with the clarity of his Sending spell. “You will return to the estate at precisely six pm on whichever day you return. If you come back too early or too late the-” There’s a brief pause, and then, “-exercise will reset. If you don't return, I will assume you were not strong enough. Am I clear?”





	Februwhump Prompt: Where are you?

**Author's Note:**

> Hooboy.
> 
> This takes place in Caleb's backstory, back in the Academy days.
> 
> Trent Ikithon is a manipulative dick. Heed the tags, please.
> 
> Also, my sincerest apologies to Mr. Tolkien.

** _Day 1_ **

Trent’s voice in his mind is as cool and clear as ever, the distance doing nothing to interfere with the clarity of his Sending spell. “You will return to the estate at precisely six pm on whichever day you return. If you come back too early or too late the-” There’s a brief pause, and then, “-exercise will reset. If you don't return, I will assume you were not strong enough. Am I clear?”

Bren is still groggy, his head aching from whatever Trent had done to knock him out and bring him here, but he doesn’t keep his instructor waiting. “Yes sir.”

There’s no response, but he doesn’t expect one.

He’s known for awhile that even among the three of them, Trent has been singling him out for extra training, running him through mental exercises Astrid and Eodwulf are excused from; it’s only fitting for the boy who will become their team leader one day.

He’s not sure where he is beyond ‘in the woods’. He takes stock of what Trent has left him with- basic clothes, a hunting knife, one healing potion. He has no components with him, but that’s not really an issue; his preferred spells use mostly verbal and somatic components, so it could be worse. If it were Astrid or Eodwulf out here, they might have more of a problem.

He looks around, taking in his surroundings. There’s the quiet sounds of the woods- the rustling of the wind through leaves, the musical call of birds ( _finch, robin, bluejay, cardinal_ ), and from somewhere close, the burble of water.

It’s not that late, he thinks, just past midday if the position of the sun is any indication. If he can figure out where he is, and what direction the estate might be in, he can conceivably finish this exercise today and have a late dinner with Astrid and Eodwulf. No problem.

 _So, first things first_ , he thinks, _where are you_?

He climbs a tree with little difficulty, the bark rough against his hands as he climbs. It’s been a few years since he had the time and inclination to climb a tree, but it’s a skill that comes back quickly. When he’s high enough up, he gets a look at his surroundings, and a better look at the sun’s position. He’s got a decent idea of where north is, and therefore where the estate might be. He’s seen maps of the area in Trent’s study, knows where the woods are in relation to the house, and thinks he remembers the path of the stream he heard before; with that added confidence he shimmies back down the tree and heads out.

He’s feeling pretty good about things until he gets to the front gate of the estate and Trent is waiting, arms crossed over his chest with a frown of blatant disapproval. “I specified a time, Bren. What did I say?”

“Six pm, sir.”

“And what time is it now?”

Bren pauses, glancing up at the sun. He’d thought he was pretty close, time-wise, but maybe not as close as he’d thought. He hazards a guess, “Five-thirty?”

Trent’s frown deepens, and it’s all Bren can do to keep himself from taking a reflexive step back.

“No, that is incorrect.” Trent’s words are cold and clipped, and Bren’s stomach twists in shame. “I am training you to become a powerful mage, Bren; not just a war mage to help protect the Empire, but the leader of your squad. That is a position that will require specificity and precision. You can’t just _guess_ .” Trent's lip curls in disgust as he moves forward, and Bren straightens, shoulders back, forcing himself to maintain eye contact when what he wants most is to just sink into the ground and disappear. “A wizard of the level I am training you to be is neither early nor late. They arrive _precisely_ when they mean to. You will do the exercise again.”

Trent puts a hand on Bren’s shoulder, and the world twists and warps around him, then abruptly goes dark.

 

**_Day 3_ **

The easy confidence Bren had on day one has long since left him. He’s gotten better at finding directions without having to climb up a tree which is good; Trent has been leaving him further and further from the estate since the first day, always in a different location than the days before. When he wakes up the third day, he finds the healing potion he’d used the second day hasn’t been replenished.

“ _Perhaps you will learn be more mindful of both yourself and your resources. The exercise starts now._ ”

The day before he’d fallen down a steep incline he hadn't seen when the light had started to fade under the tree canopy, and hurt his leg. At the time, he’d thought it was an obvious need, but maybe he’d been wrong. He wonders now if he should have waited, should have tried walking on it. It’s possible it was only badly strained, and not actually broken, but it’s too late to worry about it now. He’ll just have to be more careful.

He locates the stream again and drinks his fill, letting the water take away the edge of hunger. He hasn’t been able to catch anything useable since the exercise started; he’d spotted a small rabbit the day before, and without thinking had tossed a Firebolt at it. His aim had been true, but it has practically incinerated the creature, rendering it useless. He’ll need to figure out something to eat, and soon, but he knows from his studies how long a person can actually go without food so long as they have water. He knows that while this is uncomfortable, and will eventually have negative effects, he isn’t in immediate danger.

He keeps a close eye on the position of the sun, tracking it’s path through the sky in his head from when he woke up, doing his best to gauge how long until sundown. The first day he’d been too early. Yesterday he’d been too late. He thinks he’s got a better grasp on it this go round, his sense of time improving.

When he arrives at the gate, Trent doesn’t even address him before stalking forward, his dismay evident in his expression. He clamps a hand down on Bren’s shoulder with bruising force, mutters a word, gestures with his other hand, and sends Bren off again.

The exercise restarts.

 

**_Day 6_ **

Things are not going well.

He’d gotten turned around somehow the day before, following the stream in the wrong direction for long enough that by the time he’d realized his error, he knew that there was no way he’d get back to the estate before dark. He’d spent the night up in a tree, far too tense for sleep, waiting in the cool night air for sunrise.

The morning dawns overcast and gray, and soon it’s raining, which is doing nothing to improve Bren’s mood. He’s cold, wet, and hungry, his frustration with the whole situation, with _himself_ , a low-burning fire in his gut. He wants the exercise to be over and done with, to be inside, somewhere dry and warm, to have the company of his friends, his teammates. He takes a deep breath, centers himself, thinks about why he’s doing this. He needs to become strong, to be the leader that Trent thinks he can be. Trent wouldn’t have sent him out here if he didn’t think Bren was up to the task.

He’s so deep in his own head he doesn’t hear the movement in the bushes nearby until it’s too late. A sharp squeal rends the air, startling him from his thoughts, and something crashes from the underbrush, slamming into him at hip height. It knocks him sideways and to the ground, and the creature is on him almost immediately. Something sharp digs along the outside of his thigh, pulling a scream from him, but his training kicks in and he gets his hands up, thumbs hooked, a blast of fire shooting out as he casts. The beast tries to get out of the way, but isn’t quick enough, and the cone of flame catches it along one side, eliciting a pained noise. It rounds on him and he has a second to recognize it as a wild boar, though thankfully not a full-grown one, before it's charging again. He rolls at the last moment, evading the tusks it’s aimed at him. He gets up to his feet, though his injured leg threatens to give, and the forest around them goes still, the two of them just watching each other for a long, frozen moment. Then the boar charges again, and Bren unleashes the fire a second time, hitting it head-on. It drops, but its momentum carries its still-burning carcass through the mud a few feet toward him.

He has his hands up, still shaking as he gasps for breath, and he waits a moment to be certain it’s dead before he lowers his arms and moves toward it. The rain has put out most of the remaining flames, and he drops to his knees next to it. The outer layer of hide and bristle is burned, charred-through, and the scent of roast pig makes his stomach twist and pang. He has his knife out and digging into it before he can stop himself, tearing aside the skin to get to the cooked-through layers of flesh closest to the surface. There’s a part of his mind that worries this is a bad idea, that the pig as a whole isn’t cooked enough, that it will make him sick. That part of him is quickly subsumed by the rest of him which is starving and hasn’t eaten anything other than berries and roots in days.

By the time he stops, his belly is full, and he feels a bit queasy from all the blood, but it’s preferable to the yawning emptiness he’s been dealing with. He forces himself to get up, knowing that the smell of cooked meat and blood will draw attention from predators. He also knows that this boar wasn’t anywhere near full-grown, and there might be other ones, _bigger_ ones, nearby, which he has no interest in tangling with. He wipes his knife off against the grass and tears off strips of his shirt to bandage the gash in the side of his leg before he gets moving.

It’s nearing dusk when he arrives back at the estate, and Trent is once again waiting for him, mouth pressed into a pale, turned-down line. “Bren, it is not-”

A flash of _something_ , a sudden burst of stupidity, irritation, and brashness comes bubbling up out of him, and he does something he’s never dared before- he interrupts Trent.

“No, sir, it is _not_ six pm. It is five fifty-five, but I am here _precisely_ when I mean to be.”

Trent blinks at him, one elegant eyebrow arched in surprise as he takes in the soaking wet, blood-stained teen shivering yet standing tall before him. He takes in the sight, and after a moment in which Bren is convinced he’s about to be struck down or sent away, Trent _smiles_.

“Well done, Bren.” Trent stands to the side of the gate and gestures toward the house. “Come along. We’ll see to your injuries, and you can tell me about what you've learned during the exercise.”

Pride swells up on a wave of warmth in Bren’s chest, and everything he’s gone through in the past week- the exhaustion, the deprivation, the injuries and self-doubt- all of it has been worth it for this moment of praise, for knowing that- at least this once- he’s managed to live up to Trent’s high expectations.

Schooling his features to careful neutrality, he holds his head high, and steps through the gate.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the thought the other day that the Keen Mind feat wasn't something Caleb always had- though I think his memory was pretty decent already- but was instead something Trent had intentionally trained into him, and this fic is the result.
> 
> As I said. Trent is a manipulative dick.
> 
> Want to yell about these characters, ask a question, or just say hi? Come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter with the same handle.


End file.
